The
Best Things In Racing Are Free
First Published on : 29 May 2002
Excerpt reproduced with the kind permission
of Rebecca Hobbs.
www.pitpass.com
Where would motor racing be without marshals? Well no where as
there'd be none. From club racing to Grand Prix it's the men and
women of the marshalling ranks that ensure there's a race. Imagine
all the marshals wake up one Sunday morning, then turn over and
go back to sleep; result, no racing. So there must be a huge pay
back to tempt these people from under the duvets in the small
hours of a Sunday morning. And that pay back comes in a currency
so often forgotten in today's motor racing world, the satisfaction
of supporting the sport alone . It has nothing to do with cold,
hard cash as marshals get nothing, nowt, zilch, diddly squat.
Marshalling is a hobby done for the love of motorsport. These
men and women put aside their time and their own money to train
in the many aspects of marshalling whether they are a flag marshal,
incident marshal, race administration, pit marshal, the list of
roles is lengthy. It may shock many to know there are over 1000
marshals at the British Grand Prix, each receiving a small sum
of lunch money. Many marshals don't just dedicate their services
to British events but will travel around the world to marshal
at international races, some of whom will pay up to £1000
or more to go on such a working holiday. It is thanks to the generosity
of these people, their supporters and sponsors that a wheel ever
turns on a track. Imagine the cost to motorsport if all the marshals
of the world were fully waged, it would be the sort of figure
that make team bosses sweat.
And this is no vocation for those who think it involves loitering
in front of David Coulthard's garage once a year. A marshal who
is a spectator is as much use as a chocolate mug. Marshalling
involves a deep commitment to ongoing training, the patience of
a saint, the stamina an ox, an endless readiness and a deep rooted
passion many of us think we have but don't come close to.
The role of marshals and the reality of the danger they can be
in has been in focus in recent years after the deaths of Australian
marshal Graham Beveridge and Italian marshal Paolo Ghislimberti.
Another case many may have heard of is that of Goodwood marshals
Andy Carpenter and Steve Tarrant. At the 2000 Goodwood Festival,
John Dawson-Damer's Lotus 63 crashed, knocking down Andy and Steve
who were marshalling at Flying Finish 1. John was killed instantly,
Andy died during an operation a few hours later. Steve was resuscitated
at the scene by the rescue crew, his right leg having been severed
from his body below the knee, his left leg shattered and a multitude
of internal injuries. After gruelling and intensive treatment,
nine months later Steve was flag marshalling from a wheelchair
in South Africa! Since then Steve has continued to marshal at
events throughout Britain, whether he had to carry out the more
sedate marshalling duties whilst he came to grips with his prosthetic
leg or back to more active marshalling recently as he becomes
more adept. This return to the hobby he and his wife hold so dear
hasn't just returned a sense of joy and fulfilment to their own
lives but it can be seen and felt throughout the marshalling world.
The marshalling family has suffered losses and traumas and as
Steve's case has highlighted when one of their own is affected
they all rally round. Marshals have a special bond, some moreso
than others as on more than one occasion I've heard circuit commentators
announce with glee the engagement of Marshal A at Turn 2 to Marshal
B at Turn 7! From volunteering, marshals gain a sense of satisfaction,
enjoyment and pride in vitally helping the sport they love. Along
the way they are privy to a side of motor racing few experience
and are part of a very special team.
So next time you are feeling a little jaded about motor racing,
as if the spirit has been sucked out of it, glance across to the
marshals post and sigh a sigh of relief.
The best things in racing do seem to be for free!
Rebecca Hobbs
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Rebecca
passed her MSc (with distinction) in the Sociology of Sport, her dissertation
was 'Safety in Formula One Motor Racing 1950-1998: A Sociological Perspective'.
Greatest race she ever attended was the European GP at Donington in 1993,
her local circuit,- An honour to be at one of Senna's greatest races,
worth sitting in the rain for! She has just written her first book and
Sir Stirling Moss, who is to write the foreword has already declared it
to be the finest motorsport book he's ever read. e-mail: Rebecca
Hobbs |
Auckland
Motorsport Marshals' Net Centre
September 2000
You Can’t Take Chances
Let us not forget that motorsport in all its forms is dangerous.
Whenever I hear phrases like: "it will be a laid back event", "we
can just relax and have a day in the sun", and many others, often
my stress levels and anxiety rise.
If you can’t fathom the reason, just contemplate that a car at 125mph
(200kph in metric) is still going at 125mph no matter how laid back
the event, the competitor and the officials. Then work out which
is going to have a major accident and which is not. In either case
the consequences will be the same, as was demonstrated at the Escort
Sprints when Keith Lane‘s Silver Cobra V8 Replica had a major collison
with the armco and a double or triple barrel roll in front of the
grandstands towards Jennian Homes sweeper. I have heard the shunt
described as returning the car to its kit car components!!!
The recovery was handled professionally by most of those attending,
leaving a tense Charles in Control awaiting news. The delay until
the ambulance arrived was unacceptable, and it finally left the
circuit 55 minutes after the accident and the Red Flag call (one
was not at the circuit and was not required by the Clubsport Regulations).
Every one at Pukekohe heaved a big sigh of relief that the driver’s
injuries were "only serious" and not worse. But the question has
to be asked whether it is acceptable that the level of safety cover
and marshal numbers at Pukekohe should be any less for a Clubsport
event as compared to a National B race meeting.
In spite of this the MSNZ Steward commented that the level of manning
exceeded the permitted requirements, to which I thought "Thank goodness
they were". No doubt this question could be debated for yonks, but
I would be interested to hear your thoughts. No sooner had I written
the above than I heard about the incident during the TACCOC Driver
Training Day between a Fraser and a Lotus Elan, once more at Jennian
Homes sweeper. Both drivers got a big fright but thank goodness
they were not badly hurt.
Now add to this litany of crashes at our off-season events, first,
Richard Giltrap’s crash during the wettest part of the Porsche Club
Drive for Kids (26th August), when he aquaplaned off the back straight
and hit the armco exactly at point 6. The car was a recently imported
Boxster with only about 800km on the clock, but it is now very second
hand. The really scary thing is that he was carrying a passenger,
who was seen by the ambulance crew, before being allowed home with
a headache!
Then, second, there was a almost copy-cat shunt during the Commodore
Sprints on the following day.
I thought about the safety issue as it affects lower level events,
against the background of the fatal accident at the Goodwood Festival
of Speed Hillclimb back in June, which claimed a marshal’s life
and left another marshal seriously injured (he has since lost his
right leg from just above the knee). It also seems that the driver,
Australian John Dawson-Damer, involved had a heart attack or seizure
while competing and also died.
Goodwood is a higher level International event, but while it is
still largely less serious than many other events, the level of
professionalism remains. In addition, the fact that Historic as
well as nearly current Formula One machinery was involved as either
competitors or demonstrators, emphasises the ever present danger
rather more.
The latest issue of the BMRMC South Midlands Region magazine reproduced
a moving appreciation of the marshals at Goodwood (and of the motorsport
community as a whole) written by seasoned journalist and writer
Doug
Nye for the Daily Telegraph.
All I have left to say is that we should not drop our guard at smaller
events, safety will always have to be first. At such events vigilance
should really be greater due to the smaller numbers of marshals
and other safety personnel.
Copyright © 2000-2001 New Zealand Motorsports Officials Association
Inc. All Rights Reserved. Please send enquiries about this site,
or marshalling in general, to nzmoa@excite.com. Powered by Apache
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"They Also Serve
.
. .. . .....
who only stand
and wait, the quotation goes, I think.
From
an article by John Leaney first published in the Bulletin - October
1998
An apt description of the motor-racing marshals, those luridly orange-clad
figures dotted around the edge of motor racing circuits, or at the
obviously treacherous points of hill-climbs and so forth; sometimes
moved to the display of flags held still or violently agitated in
an arcane rubric understood by them and ignored by the drivers at
their peril. A casual observer might fear for their safety and question
their positioning so close to where even an uninformed eye might
predict catastrophe is likely to occur The casual observer would
be right but, as the marshals sole reason for being there is to
handle catastrophe (usually lugging a fire extinguisher), it makes
sense to station him or her reasonably close to the probable site
of 'incidents'. Fortunately, on such occasions adrenaline intervenes
so that even such figures as the author - grandfather of five, frankly
pear-shaped and prey to the cardiac deficiencies of his age - seem
to cover the ground with the speed (if not the elegance) of gazelles!
Well, all right then, elderly gazelles! Either way, if you come
to grief on the motorway it will be many minutes before help arrives,
but if your 'hot hatch' leaves the field for a spectacular display
of impromptu acrobatics, and comes to rest inverted with flames
gently licking from the engine bay, disciplined well-equipped and
trained help will be at hand in a matter of seconds; of course it
will - marshals love letting of fire extinguishers in circumstances
that can be justified!
More seriously though, the crew of each marshals post is composed
of men and women or all ages who do know what they are doing and
why they are there. Though why they are there does give room for
some deeper analysis, as it is not easy to understand why the prospect
of cowering behind a dry-stone wall in the Manx rain, while somebody
else tries to urge expensive machinery up the gradient on the other
side just a little bit faster than yesterday, is so appealing. And
why, to exercise this dubious privilege men and women of all ages
will dress themselves at their own expense and submit to quite rigorous
training at the direction of others sometimes noticeably more youthful,
with good grace and humility, is not at once obvious! Probably it
is the British passion for getting the job done properly as a member
of an elite. The extent to which this can appeal is perhaps clearest
with regard to the very youngest recruits. I recently spent a weekend
assembling cars in grid order for the 750 Motor Club with a nine
year old boy as my chief and for most of the time, only assistant.
By the end of the meeting we were both footsore and weary though,
as I pointed out to Adam my legs were fifty-three years older than
his! I am not exaggerating the least when I say that without him,
alone I could not have coped. It will be another eight years before
he can work 'trackside' like his father, with the prospect of giving
Schumacher the kiss of life, but he is already aware that races
do not start on the grid and behind the scenes there is something
to do all day. Unlike 'on post' where trying to pinpoint the local
wagtails' nest can sometimes be the most demanding activity over
the whole meeting! Perhaps more important he has learned that service
is not demeaning and can be fun!
Now if all this sounds very high minded and morally uplifting, I
can assure you that marshals are not serious, sombre, cynical creatures,
poised in anticipation of disaster, and there is plenty of humour
attending their activities. At a local hill-climb, a very expensive
piece of machinery spun past the end of the armco behind which I
was sheltering, and came to rest in some long grass. I approached,
fire extinguishers at the ready, to enquire of the driver if he
knew what day of the week it was, and whether it was breakfast time,
Christmas, or Tuesday, as his trance-like state suggested he might
require the attention of someone better versed in the treatment
of shock than I. I asked if he was hurt and a long sigh escaped
him "Only my pride -l'll never live this down!" he muttered, and
began to giggle cheerfully. The speed and agility with which the
crew of a post abandoned their precarious station as the entire
front axle of a racing truck approached them in a series or leaps
and bounds reminiscent of Barnes Wallace's famous bomb, is etched
deep into the memories of the beholders. On a less dramatic plane
I find the study of the wide spectrum of personal types and apparent
lifestyles that motorsport attracts, a source of gentle amusement.
Whilst personally I find truck-racing unattractive and brutish as
a spectacle, there is no denying its appeal to a wide audience,
and there is a delicious incongruity in the piloting of one of these
soot-belching monsters by a petite lady who can barely see over
the steering wheel!
The Vintage Sports Car Club by contrast presents a picture of restrained
elegance and genteel decorum, until the often rather aged gentlemen
take to the track in their priceless machinery and subject it to
quite horrifying stresses, with the front suspension sometimes taking
on shapes only normally glimpsed in the works of Salvador Dali or
the 'Beano'.
The practitioners of sidecar racing are perhaps the greatest possible
foil to the V.S.C.C., being frankly as eccentric as their machines,
roughly triangular, and about as close to the ground as my Jack
Russell terrier. These creations (often designed and built in Switzerland
- possibly, I suppose, influenced by Toblerone!) consist of a lattice
of rather frail tubing, with a carapace of flimsy fibreglass that
contains the viciously powerful engine on which the pilot crouches
in an attitude halfway between that of the faithful at prayer in
obedience to the tenet of Islam, and the less obviously but no doubt
equally reverent posture of the less imaginative carvings of a Hindu
Temple with a keen interest in fecundity. His passenger meanwhile
must remain content with a stark platform to accommodate his frantic
changes of position designed to adjust the equilibrium of the whole
contraption. Devotees of this pursuit, if male, are commonly bearded
and long-haired; the female of the species normally confined to
the 'sidecar' are surprisingly numerous and, it is rudely rumoured,
are wont to eschew underwear beneath their racing Ieathers in favour
of tattoos, a theory that is probably as wildly inaccurate as it
is politically deplorable.
Women are increasingly to be met with amongst the competing drivers
nowadays, and their demeanour can be charmingly true to their gender.
Whereas males of all ages on completion of a race where they have
gained the first three places, will jump from their cars dragging
off helmets and fireproof ba!aclavas to indulge in an orgy of backslapping
and hearty declaration as to why the winner should really be disqualified
etc. etc., their female counterpart will remove helmet and balaclava
and set them neatly aside, and with practiced fingers and a fleeting
glance in the car's mirror, tease her hair into an acceptable coiffure,
slide gracefully from the cockpit of her machine like a butterfly
from her discarded pupa and spend a moment or two smoothing her
fireproof overalls to the best advantage, and then, and only then,
submit cheerfully to the general hilarity of the occasion.
My references have of course been confined to the atmosphere of
Club meetings where sportsmanship still prevails. Marshalling at
Silverstone I found greatly entertaining, in so far as the slick
management of the arriving and departing helicopters was concerned,
and the razzmatazz and the young women in the hospitality enclosures
viewed through binoculars offered an alternative to the pied wagtail.
But the racing was a snore. I cannot remember how many marshals
worked for three days for nothing for Mr. Ecclestone, but it was
plenty and without them there would have been no Grand Prix. No
wonder he can afford a £million donation to a political party and,
when they feel they must decline, I doubt that the British Motor
Racing Marshals Club would have any difficulty in putting it to
good use equipping and training the men and women who make his enterprise
work smoothly!
If this brief insight into marshalling appeals to you or your son
or daughter, the Chief Marshal at any circuit will make any one
or all of you, very welcome; marshalling is now recognised as an
approved activity within the Duke or Edinburgh's Award Scheme.
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